


moments.

by orphan_account



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is just me forcing myself to write, and to write nice things. Bursts of good feelings. (Drabbles? Is that the term? Is that even still a thing?) An experiment in writing *and* in mood elevation that I’m sharing, here, with strangers on the internet.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	1. flirt.

—

“Wait,” You looked up suddenly from the screen of your computer, bespectacled eyes trained on the pouting man pottering around the kitchen making himself his mid-afternoon tea. “Were you flirting with me, just now?”

He glanced over at you, one infuriatingly perfect eyebrow arching above the rim of his own glasses. “Not very successfully, evidently.” 

He was glowering, though gently. He had that sort of stubborn look he got cast across his face; features set to neutral, eyes half-lidded to keep himself hidden away, just a bit. “Honey,” He couldn’t hide how drawn he was to the mere sound of you endearing him though, his body turning back towards you and the soft lilt of your voice. “No, I’m just busy. I’m sorry—”

He shook his head, bashful all of a sudden that he’d made anything of it at all, while you shut your laptop and stacked the few sheets that were scattered about on top of it. “It’s nothing. I’m just, you know — cabin fever or something.”

“Andy,” You met him at the kitchen island, stealing his mug of tea to take a sip for yourself before he cradled it for the next half hour. “You’re an excellent flirt. Undercover flirt, even — that’s the problem, actually. You’re just too subtle for your own good.”

“Oh, yeah?” You earned a smile from him, his eyes softening. “So what you’re saying is that I need to bust out some bigger moves? That’ll get your attention, will it?”

“Bigger moves? Have you got moves, Andy?” He gasped indignantly, dramatically, one hand landing on the collar of his wrinkled shirt like he was a scandalised Victorian lady. “What are these moves, you speak of?”

“What are my moves?” He snagged back his mug, taking a sip for himself before swerving around the corner of the bench; long arms reaching for you, the threat of tickles very real. “I’ll give you moves, come ‘ere,” 

You yelped, and he giggled, and then you took off down the hall with him scurrying not too far behind.

—


	2. morning.

—

You’d been awake for nearly an hour. It wasn’t too early, but Andrew was still fast asleep beside you. 

He had one arm wrapped around your middle, his hand tucked under your shirt and splayed over your sleep softened skin, and his face pressed into the pillow — your pillow — his wild hair strewn over his eyes. 

You’d tried twice already to carefully extricate yourself from his sleepy hold, but you’d failed both times. The first time, he’d grumbled restlessly beside you, and the second, his hold had gotten tighter, not looser. 

Resisting the urge to brush the hair from his eyes lest you wake him, you tried once more to make a break for the shower. You tried to lift his hand from where it was snuggled around your ribs, tried to roll out from under the weight of his arm. But instead of freedom, what you ended up with was a lanky, sleepy giant sprawled over the top of you. 

“No,” He mumbled, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “It’s too early to get up, yet.”

“You don’t have to get up.” You pressed a quick kiss to his mess of hair, to his temple, to the dimple on his scruffy cheek. “Lie in. I don’t mind.”

He just groaned in reply, squeezing you gently and trailing three hot, wet kisses along the line of your collarbones. “No, don’t think so.” His head popped up, his bleary green eyes smiling at you. “Stay here, with me.”

It was your turn to grumble, now. You loved the feel of the weight of him on top of you, of the shadow of his beard scratching a warm path up your neck. Of his lips, lazy on your skin, and his fingertips dancing across the jut of your hip. “What’s in it for me?” You whispered into his mouth and breathed in the soft, devilish laughter of his that bubbled up in response.

“Oh, I’ve a few ideas.” He kissed you again, on your lips this time.

—


	3. hiding.

—

“Hey,” A hand made a grab for you as you wandered down the unfamiliar hallway. “Come here, a second.”

The hand — Andrew’s — was attached to a voice, also his. He appeared from under the shadow of an out of the way staircase, a Cheshire cat-like grin firmly in place on his handsome face. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You returned his smile, bemused by his sneaky antics. “What’re you doin’, Andy? Hiding?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, tugging you into the shadows and towards him by the hand. He dropped a quick kiss to your lips, chuckling to himself. “I’m not hiding. Not from you, anyway.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to know.” You let him envelop you, one of your arms looping around his waist while the other tried to mind his head from the low bulkhead. “Watch your head.”

“My head’s fine,” He mumbled with a smile, but bent his knees a bit more anyway, nestling his cheek against your hand before ducking to capture your lips again. 

“Andy,” You sighed in a breathless, moony kind of way, flushing under his darkening gaze. “Everything good?”

He just nodded, kissing you once more before dropping his head somewhat awkwardly to the crook of your neck. “Just needed a minute. Alone. With you.”

“Yeah?” You pressed your lips to the shell of his ear, moving your arms to wrap around his broad shoulders. “Okay.”

It was his turn to sigh, now. You let your hands roam across the tense, tired plane of his back, feeling him melt, just a bit, under the gentle pressure of your touch. “… hmm,” He hummed, peeking back up at you once your hands had found their way into his hair. “Thank you.”

Your hands tugged softly on his haphazard curls, and you enjoyed the dazed look that came to his face at the feeling; the sudden heaviness of his eyes, the coy little smile that played over his lips. “Any time.” You chuckled, but you meant it. And that he knew. 

—


	4. breakfast.

—

You eyed him over the comically large menu; his form folded over the top of the table, his devilish grin, his one eyebrow jutting out from under the rim of his glasses. “Andrew…”

“Hmm?” He gleamed at you, a smile so bright you heard the passing waitress chuckle at the sight of him as she walked by. “What looks good?” His above-the-table antics had nothing on his goings-on below it, though — his wandering hands strumming up your thighs, long fingers tickling behind your knees. Every time you glanced over at him, trying to look stern and failing miserably, he’d give you a cheeky squeeze. 

“You got too much sleep.” You ducked back behind the menu, smiling to yourself at the sound of his delighted laughter where he couldn’t see you.

“I did sleep well, actually,” He was thrumming out some half-baked tune on the sides of your legs, now. “but that’s your fault, mostly. Let’s be honest.”

You flipped down one corner of the menu again, shooting him an indignant look as he eyed you hotly, waiting to get a rise out of you. “My fault?” He gave a deep, theatrical nod. “My fault.”

“Your fault.” His face broke out in another grin, which he promptly turned towards the server who’d come to take your orders. “Hi, how’re you?” He made small talk while you tried in earnest to focus on deciding what it was you wanted to eat.

“Hogging the menu.” He gestured toward you, ribbing you gently. While he was distracted in conversation, you decided to get your own back, tracking your foot up the inside of his thigh. “Oop!” His brows shot up in surprise. “Do you mind if we take another minute to decide?”

“Done.” You smiled at him sweetly, handing him the menu and admiring the sudden blush rising across his cheeks. “Think I’ll have pancakes. Something sweet.”

“Something sweet?” It was his turn to use the laminated sheet as a dramatic prop, now. His eyes kept wandering to yours, amused as you were at his serious face and thoughtful hums. “Do they have a to-go menu?”

—


	5. gardening.

—

“Is it possible we’re bad at this?” You looked up at him, towering above you from your spot on the grass, his pretty face back-lit by the setting sun. 

“Oh, yeah. We’re definitely bad at this.” You tugged gently on his pant leg, denim caked with muddy earth, trying to convince him to join you down on the ground.

He smiled, brushed his dirty hands on his dirty pants, then collapsed beside you, tugging you towards him and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “We’ll get eaten alive if we stay outside for much longer.” He mumbled, his breath cool against your sticky skin.

“Yeah,” You curled into him a little more, words almost lost in the fabric of his shirt where you had your face pressed against his chest. “What time is it?”

You could hear the rumble of his thoughtful hums under your ear, feel the gentle shift of him as he craned around, looking for signs of a clock that wasn’t there. “Dunno.”

His hand was wandering over your waist, slipping under the hem of your shirt and dancing up the warm, tired plane of your back. “Andy?” You tilted your face up, meeting his sleepy green eyes as he looked down at you.

The sun was crawling away, making way for the dusk. There was a sudden chill in the air, and you were the first to feel it, shivering in your place tucked into his side. His eyebrows furrowed a bit, his hands rubbing over your arms, brushing away the gooseflesh that had risen there. 

“Hmm?” He hummed again, latent in reply to your whispered question from before.

“What do you want for dinner?” That wasn’t the question you’d had in mind, but you’d forgotten the first one now, sleepiness clouding your thoughts.

“Don’t mind,” He’d pulled you almost over him now, all but enveloping you in his arms and the soft fabric of his well-worn flannel shirt. “Take-away?” He murmured, pausing to steal a kiss before carrying on. “Bath?” Another question, another kiss. “Bath,” Kiss. “take-away,” And another. “movie?” And one more.

“Perfect.” You let your head fall back to the crook of his neck, nose tracing along the line of his stubbly jaw. “Now we just have to get up.”

—


	6. porridge.

—

“There you are.” His head popped around the corner first, followed quickly by the rest of him — all cardigan-clad and socked feet. “Thought you’d finally made a break for it.”

You looked up at him from the pot you had on the stove, any stern words you might have had for him dying on your tongue as soon as he draped himself over you and planted a minty kiss on your lips. “Joking…” He chuckled at the furrow in your brow, nudging your forehead gently with the tip of his nose. “You’re making porridge?”

“Nothing gets by you, Byrne.” You teased him back, but really, you were trying hard not to get distracted by his wandering lips and hands. You liked porridge just fine, but he was the one who usually made it, and frankly, minding the balance between just right and over-cooked sludge made you a little nervous.

He whispered his thanks into your nape, knowing that you really only ate — let alone made — porridge just with and for him. 

“Andy,” You giggled at the feel of his beard against your neck, and at just how sweet and needy he was being this morning. “You gotta stop. You’re distracting me.”

“Oh,” he crooned, slipping one hand under the hem of your jumper. “I’m distracting you, am I?”

“Yes…” The oats were done, milky steam filling the air. “Turn.” You gave up at trying to extricate yourself from him — you knew better when he was in a mood like this. “Bowls.”

He spun you both towards the kitchen island, grabbing the two bowls you’d gotten down but left beside the stove on his way. He juggled them in one hand, keeping his other arm wrapped loosely around your waist. “There you go.”

You tried and failed to hide the creeping smile on your face, busying yourself with heaping the steamy glut into the bowls and dropping a few raspberries and some chopped apple over the top. “You do realise you’ll have to let me go if you want to eat this, right?” You glanced up and over your shoulder at him.

He just shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. “Nope,” He picked up his own bowl and moved it with yours to one side before spinning you around in his arms and then lifting you to sit on the edge of the bench. “See?” He shifted to stand between your legs, dropping another kiss to your lips.

“Incorrigible, you are.” He looked so thoroughly proud of himself, and so unbearably sweet at the same time. It was maddening. 

“Love you,” He laughed before shovelling a spoonful of fruit and porridge into his mouth. “Thanks for breakfast.”

—


End file.
